


Break Free

by LtRDataSoong



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDMS, Blindfolds, D/s, Discipline, Dom Greg Lestrade, Dom John Watson, M/M, Paddling, Riding Crops, Smut, Spanking, Sub Mycroft, Sub Sherlock Holmes, belt, d/s verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27262444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtRDataSoong/pseuds/LtRDataSoong
Summary: D/s classic AU: Sherlock is a sub who cheated his results in dominant. Eventually caught, he is now an uncollared sub up for training. Surprisingly and completely original plot twist: John is his trainer.English is not my first language, so sorry for butchering your language.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 51
Kudos: 106





	1. Intro

When Sherlock woke up the first thing he felt was the stinging on his hands. He moved, hissing a bit. His wrists were tied. That couldn't be a good sign.  
His fingers were tidily bandaged, yellow stains surfaced on the white gauze. He struggles with the padded cuffs on his wrists, clanging the iron bars of the hospital bed he was laying on.  
He muttered a course. 

It hadn't been his fault.  
Victor had walked into his flat and asked for help. He had aged up pretty well, and now he was wearing a ginger beard that Sherlock hadn't been sure he liked, but the Detective had recognized his green eyes immediately.  
He had noticed the collar his old friend was showing on his neck, and along with it, the bruises and wounds he was hiding below his clothes. 

Sherlock hadn't seen Victor since middle school before their paths had been separated. He still remembered that kiss Victor had given him, the spinning of his head and the sensation of floating he had felt. They never had a romantic story really, but the shocking gaze of Mycroft from the other side of the schoolyard had been delightful. Surprising the older Holmes was a rather remarkable talent that Victor had, and the scandalized yell of the prefect had made the young ginger boy laugh. He had always had a taste for scandals. 

Later Victor had been classified as a submissive, Sherlock had managed to buy himself a light Dominant result, ensuring his freedom. He was sure Victor knew, guessing what not even his brother had ever known, and maybe for that he hadn't been quite forgiven. 

“I couldn't believe it,” said Victor, sitting in his living room, showing a newspaper article about one of the latest Sherlock's cases, “My old friend, the famous detective” he laughed “quite a leap from pirate” he added with his sweet smile. 

It hadn't been his fault.  
Victor had tried to hide the signs of the abuse, avoiding to talk about his collar and to whom it belonged, but Sherlock had inevitably found out.  
He had thought to handle the situation in a rational way, to not get too involved, to simply get his way with sharp deductions that inevitably would disarm the guy, to scare him off as it always has done.

He had smashed Victor's house door open. The Dom was there, holding a long cane that was dropping blood. In a split second, Sherlock was on him, and he had hit him, again and again. He didn't recall much else, their blood mixing, his hands going numb, Victor's body laying on the table. 

“I would stop, there is no use,” Mycroft said, entering the hospital room, glaring at Sherlock struggling with the cuffs. He was holding a plastic cup. Sherlock wondered how much time he had been lying unconscious on the bed to get his brother to surrender and get a coffee from a hospital machine.  
“Honestly, Sherlock, it never occurred to me you might be that stupid”, Mycroft said casually, stirring his coffee “What other outcome were you exactly expecting to archive, ignoring your more natural needs, lying”, the older brother continued, “No wonder you ended up tied on a hospital bed”.

“Oh, have mercy” Sherlock snarled, “You are just happy you were right, you never accepted the idea I was considered more capable to look after myself than you” he spatted, pointing with his eyes to the collar Mycroft was wearing.  
“Where is your dear owner, brother? Playing to be a detective somewhere? I would never have guessed his leash could extend enough to let you all by yourself” he mocked, smiling cruelly. His words, however, didn't seem to impress his brother, who just walked across the room and sat on the plastic chair next to Sherlock's bed. 

“Greg is fine, thank you for asking, busy to clean out the mess you get yourself into,” he replied casually, “I'll send him your regards” he added smiling. Sherlock was barely able to keep himself from struggling again against his restrain in frustration. This was going to give his brother material to smug about forever. 

“What about Victor?” Sherlock asked quietly, suddenly serious.  
Mycroft changed expression immediately, “He is hospitalized here too, his wounds were pretty serious but he might not have permanent damage”.  
“Permanent damage” Sherlock repeated hissing, “He was almost killed, of course he will have permanent damage, Mycroft!” he exclaimed, repeating his brother choice of words with disgust, “And all because someone thought to be an excellent idea to put a sign on them, _I like to be hurt, please serve yourself_ ” he added outraged. 

“You mean on us, baby brother” Mycroft corrected, he was looking at his coffee with disgust and the satisfied look had returned on his face.  
Sherlock went livid, “I won't,” he said simply.  
“Oh but Sherlock, the news is out!” his brother announced cheerfully, “Your medical chart has been changed, everyone knows you are a submissive, and that you, reckless man, had decided to pretend to be something else for all your life,” he said with a wide smile.  
“I really don't know how you could think this would work, did you really expect that drowning your needs in drugs and self-destructive behaviors would satisfy you forever?” Mycroft chuckled coldly “You drove yourself on the verge of insanity.”

He stood up, throwing the disposable cup in the bin.  
“But don't you worry, I sorted things out for a change” he added sarcastically, “I won't have you sent to one of those training centers, letting them sedate you constantly, even if you might think it would be pleasant,” he said, “I got yourself a private trainer Dominant”.

Sherlock had been listening to Mycroft's little lecture, rolling his eyes in exasperation, but the last sentence had frozen him. His mouth had opened in shock, then he had managed to compose himself, returning to his sarcastic mask, “You were always terrible at making presents” he commented with a low voice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't manage to write all I was thinking I would, unfortunately, I will update very soon.  
> In the meantime, I let you with Sherlock and John's very first meeting. Hope you like it.

Sherlock was kneeling on the floor of his living room. His legs had started to tingle shortly after he had fallen to the position, he wondered if he was doing something wrong or if it was just a matter of practice.  
“Keep the legs a bit more apart,” John said, guiding the movement with his walking stick, probably seeing Sherlock's discomfort. 

The Doctor was the fourth Dominant Mycroft had sent in a week and the sub had learned plenty from the previous experiences, probably not exactly what he was supposed to learn though. 

Refusing to obey or straightforward insults were strangely perceived by the Doms as an invitation to do a better job instead of an invitation to piss off, they would bark orders and reprimands at him with evident satisfaction.  
After a few hours of failing attempts, the detective had finally solved the puzzle, it wasn't that much of a challenge, really: unsurprisingly, it was the humiliation that would scare them off, the perfect way to kill their pride and wish to try to dominate him, and Sherlock needed just a few minutes to find out their deepest weakness and promptly pointing it out, in a stream of cold sharp words.

He had seen with exquisite satisfaction the doms fell, one by one, their faces had all passed from shock to rage to red shame, and, finally, they had left, immediately or after throwing a little scene.  
John, however, hadn't. 

When the doctor had entered Sherlock's flat, the detective had given him a short glance, barely moving his eyes from his work and not even minding enough to get up from his armchair.

Veteran, despite the medical background, psychosomatic limp, failing psychotherapy, alcoholic brother. It had been the easiest deduction yet, and Sherlock had found pretty simple to let the stream out, unwrapping John's life, altogether his clearly poor choice of blind patriotism and the post-traumatic disorder it had lead him to. 

He had watched John's shock with pleasure.  
The Dom had opened his mouth for a few seconds, trying to find a fitting response to the attack. 

“That was-”, the sub had smiled with anticipation, “brilliant”, John finished.  
This time it was Sherlock who looked surprised. 

And now he was kneeling in front of him, still quite stroked by the sudden change of strategy he clearly had to take. John had explained him this was a pretty simple exercise about positions, Sherlock hadn't heard much else, making a point on not listening.

He opened his knees as suggested, it really helped to balance the weight better. John gently pushed his shoulders down, so Sherlock found himself sitting on his ankles. “See, it's a bit more comfortable now” the Doctor explained, the detective glared at him with the least of sympathy.  
“Now, put your hands behind your back,” the Dom ordered and again Sherlock obeyed, “Perfect” he praised.  
He sat on the couch in front of the kneeling sub. 

“That's how I would like you to greet me when I come here,” John said “It's not like you will be kneeling all the time but it would be better if you'd get a pillow to put there, so you can wait for me to come in without having your knees getting sore” the dom explained with a casual tone.  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Do you really think you will last that long?” he scoffed.  
“I don't see why it should go otherwise,” John answered dryly, something in his tone sent a sparkle down the sub's spine. 

“Now,” the doctor said, suddenly returning to the relaxed tone of before “I've been told you never had a proper relationship in your life, is that correct?”  
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, “If you mean if I voluntarily asked to have my freedom taken away by a random idiot for a quite short moment of alleged sexual pleasure,” Sherlock spatted, “then no, it strangely never occurred to me to do so”, a cold smile appeared on his face. 

“Hmm,” John said, “Is that what you think a relationship is?” he asked, looking at him closely, almost concerned and definitely curious. Sherlock didn't answer and just looked away. 

“So,” the Dom continued, changing the subject and straightening back on his seat, “We will start with simple rules” he stated.

“You will address me as 'Sir'” he declared with a plain tone, “If you turn out to have specific kinks, we might change it, but I expect you to use it, especially if you have to ask me something or you are being punished” he continued.  
Sherlock's mouth clenched in a thin line at the last word, but the Dom seemed to ignore it. 

“Is that some kind of leftover from your military past, or it just turns you on?” Sherlock asked acrimoniously. The Dom smiled and answered, “It's a pretty standard sign of respect and politeness,” he still was not giving the sub the satisfaction of visibly irritating him, “that you seem to have forgotten already”. 

A shiver went down Sherlock's spine, “So, what? You are going to beat me?” he snarled, “Isn't that what your kind loves to do?”, his disgust was evident.  
John chuckled, “Your kind?”, he asked, “That's a pretty strong statement from someone who used to be on this side of the barricade less than a week ago.” 

The detective's eyes sharpened at the mocking tone, the Dom continued “Is that what you want? To be beaten, I mean?”  
Sherlock inhale deeply, he wanted to stand up, to kick that man out of his house, but his body refused to move, “Piss off” he hissed instead. 

A hand grabbed his curls tightly, “Hush now,” John said firmly, pulling his hair, forcing him to stand up on his knees again. Sherlock's hand grabbed him, he could think of quite a number of ways he could break the man's wrist. He imagined all in less than a few seconds, he would do it, he thought, he would do it and fuck Mycroft, and everyone else, fuck the entire world. He would end up in a clinic. The first time it had been classified as self-defense and exhausted sub needs, the second he would go straight for aggression. 

“Put your hands behind your head, Sherlock,” John commanded, “I wouldn't like you to hurt them more than they are already.”  
The sub grabbed on the other's wrist more tightly, before releasing it with a hiss. His hands went on his nape, his finger interlaced with rage, he ignored the pain on his wounded knuckles. 

“Breath, slowly,” the dominant told him, inviting to match his breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Sherlock followed, the stinging on his scalp was tinging, infuriating, and then it was slowly released. Johns's fingers were still holding his curls, but with less force, in an almost patronizing soothing. 

“Since we are here already,” John said suddenly as Sherlock breath was slowing, “let's continue our little lesson, shall we?” the detective heartbeat was calming down, his head clearing again. 

“This is the position you will assume when I tell you to heel,” the doctor's calm lecture continued, “You will drop whatever you are doing, get on your knees and calm down,” he said finally letting Sherlock's hair go. 

“Now, Sherlock,” John said returning to relax on the couch's seatback “I know what happened to you and that your last encounter with 'one of my kind' wasn't pleasant,” he told him emphasizing the detective's words, “You went through a pretty traumatizing experience.” Sherlock's mouth tightened, _traumatizing_ , why everyone seemed to think he was traumatized? “But that doesn't excuse you for being unnecessarily rude, does it?”  
The detective's gaze was more than a sufficient answer to the obviously rhetorical question.

“I didn't curse at you, or insult you,” John continued failing to acknowledge his sub clearly infuriated eyes, “I treated you with the basic respect any civilized person would use without receiving the same favor from you.”  
Sherlock felt the Dom's gaze uneasy on him, he moved his eyes away. His heartbeat had started pounding again against his chest, he could feel his eyes growing bigger and cold needles tingling his cheekbones.  
“Ask me to be punished, Sherlock.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, maybe I'm going too fast? I'm just such a fan of spanking, sorry. Hope you like it.

The silence fell, deafening.  
Sherlock could hear his ears ringing acutely, the gaze of the man waiting in front of him was almost too much to bear. 

“I won't ask you to hurt me” he finally managed to say, his voice was more pinched that he had intended to, his mouth had gone dry.  
John didn't care to answer the statement, limiting himself to just fold his arms. 

Long moments passed, Sherlock was finding a bit of calm again, he was confused about what strange force was holding him on his knees. The offer of punishment was heaving in his head. Tempting maybe? He mentally shook his head.  
His legs had started to go numb again, and so were his arms. John wasn't looking at him anymore, deliberately ignoring the kneeling sub. 

Was this a test of patience?  
His fingers had started to go loose, they slipped a bit. The sub immediately returned them into the position. He could feel the sweat wetting warm the gauze that still wrapped his hands, it had been a miracle he had managed to not break his fingers, he had thought, he had been lucky to not lose his fine coordination for his job.

“It would have been a shame, to lose that amazing musical talent of yours out of such a bastard's face,” Lestrade had commented when he had visited him, checked on him. He hadn't said anything about Sherlock's new revealed dynamic, he had kept it quiet, even if the detective had seen a concern he hadn't ever noticed on his brother's dominant's face.

The sub swallowed a couple of times, even if his mouth was still dry.  
“I want to be punished,” he heard himself saying.  
John turned to look back at him, he cleared his voice, “Manners, Sherlock, remember?” he said.

Sherlock was now looking in his eyes, John could see his pupils going bigger, and the internal struggle quite obviously happening in the sub whole body.  
For a brief moment, Sherlock fell silent, his lips had returned to be a thin line in anger again.  
He took a deep breath, “Please, sir, may I be punished?”, the detective found it hard to not make it sound sarcastic, or to not laugh at himself either. 

John smiled though, “Very good”, he praised, “Come here,” the dom said sweetly. Sherlock, still on his knees, shifted closer to him. 

“Up, across my knees, please” John ordered, there was no anger in his voice, it was calm, almost seducing. Sherlock was still feeling quite ridiculous, he could feel his face going pale at the implications of the order. His legs shake as he stood, trembling with tinglings. 

John accommodated his weight on his lap.  
Sherlock's head was spinning, he looked at his hands on the floor in front of him, his feet were barely touching the ground. 

A hand caressed his things, slowly. The sub was wearing his cotton light blue pajamas, he hadn't found the visit of the umpteenth dominant quite an occasion to dress up properly. 

Without further warning, a sharp hand fell on him, the sound of the flesh was barely muffled by his thin trousers, it resonated on the flat. Sherlock let a humph out from the surprise. The pain was barely there, warm and quickly fading.  
Before the sub could quite register what had just happened, to picture himself ridiculously climbed on the man's lap, the sound repeated, again and again. 

Sherlock heard distantly the moans that were inevitable drove out his mouth, getting louder with every smack. His brain was failing for a change to keep up with the situation, all he could felt was the warm sensation building slowly upon his backside by the second, turning sometimes into pain, his toes were sloping on the wooden floor, occasionally kicking the air to fall again on the ground. 

Suddenly it stopped. The detective breathed deeply, out of air.  
He felt John's hand caressing the warm, in gentle circles, then grabbing his pajamas elastic. 

Sherlock this time reacted, “No, don't, please”, he pleaded, not sure if he meant it. His voice sounded raspy and desperate, he barely was able to say it was his own.  
“Hush, boy,” John said, firmly but still with that sweet calm he had before, “You are doing so well,” he added with a whisper.  
Sherlock felt his pants fell to his knees. The fresh air cooled his red warm flesh.

John caressed him again for a brief moment, then he let his hand fell again on the now bared cheeks.

The sound was quite different, flesh against flesh, more sharp and deafening. The sub let out a suffocated groan.

John had going increasing force and rhythm, not letting his palm just fell flat of Sherlock's backside but keeping his finger together and let the strikes run on the cheeks' curve. He had always liked this kind of punishment, a bit old fashioned maybe, and it was definitely less of an impact than any implement would be, but it allowed to keep it going on for a long time without making any serious damage, allowing the sub to gradually melt beneath it. 

Sherlock was barely hearing the blows anymore, his concentration was on the pain now very present on his backside. The groans had built up in volume as the now burning warmth had. 

He could vaguely feel his cock was filling, the unexpected arousal had turned his moans into lustful sounds, interrupted only by the hiccups that were clenching his throat. A little part of his brain, still kind of aware of the situation, was screaming in shame, the rest had subsided in a dream-like state. 

He didn't even immediately realize when John had stopped. The silence of the room was now only interrupted by Sherlock's sniffs and occasional sobs, there were not real tears falling from his eyes, but he was barely able to breathe through the lump in his throat.

His trousers were pulled up, igniting the hotness of his skin, and not letting it worn away in the air. 

John embraced him, laid down on the couch's seatback while holding him on his lap tightly wrapped in his arms.  
He was kissing him, praising him with murmured words, and ensuring his total and earned forgiveness. Sherlock let himself to be hugged, he nuzzled his face in the Doctor's soft cardigan, inhaling deeply as the sobs subsided, not quite ready to see the world yet. 

John coddled him for a long while, never stopping to run slow circles on his back, occasionally kissing his forehead and hair. Sherlock was looking in a not precise point in front of him, it was weird, he thought, to be comforted by the same very hands that had just punished him. His breath had returned to his normal pace, may be lighter than it was before.  
His brain was trying to wrap around what had happened, the memories of just moments before were a vague and confusing mix of sensations than the rather very objective record he was used to.

“Are you alright?”, the dom's voice almost startled him. He glared at him like he had forgotten he was there, despite he was literally still sitting on the man's legs. He nodded.  
John smiled at him, kissing him once again on his head, “Are you sure? Nothing to say about it?” 

Sherlock cleared his voice, undecided if he wanted to expose himself even more than he had already in front of this man, “Is it weird I got-” he trailed off not sure how to put the sentence down. John chuckled, “No, it is pretty normal,” he said, “submissive rarely don't get aroused by punishment, not necessarily from the pain, but because of the idea of being subjected,” he explained, “The difference between that and play is that you can be sure you won't ever be allowed to come during punishment”. His tone in the last part had gone more firm.  
Sherlock blushed violently looking away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of concerned Mycroft, he is my favourite character after all.

John had left Sherlock's flat only after he had been sure the sub had completely returned to be himself again.  
Only after he had asked again if he was fine, hours after Sherlock's very first punishment, and the detective had rolled his eyes and answered exhausted, “Yes, I am fine, you are repeating yourself to exasperation,” and yet added a Sir (even if quite belated and only after seeing John's eyebrow rose), the Doctor had been satisfied with the sub's state of mind. 

He had continued Sherlock's lecture about pretty standard things, of which yet the detective seemed completely oblivious, like colour system and safe-wording. John had wondered, without saying it out loud, how any adult man could reach Sherlock's age without knowing such stuff and yet being able to list the last places you had been in chronological order just glaring at the mud below your shoes. 

The detective was kind of a unique case in John's and, he guessed, in everyone's experience.  
He had been a trainer for years now. Most subs who needed professional training were abused ones who couldn't always remember how a sane relationship was supposed to work, but Sherlock just had never had a direct experience in the matter and, apparently, he had never cared to have one before.

He sighed, deep in his thoughts, through the brisk air of the young evening.  
The Dom had told him to not have any hesitancy on calling him, even during the night, “You will be here again tomorrow, I'm sure I can manage to bear your absence for a few hours, sir” Sherlock had answered, his supposedly respectful address sounded quite sarcastic, but John was satisfied with him just using it. The sub had closed the door behind him still surprised by the light kiss through which John had told him good night.

In general, it was important to let subs in training some free time, to cool down and to not get too overwhelmed with a suddenly constant relationship, in Sherlock's case, John was sure it was vital, as much as a gradual approach to things. He had added just a few more rules, like bedtime and the recommendation to eat, ensuring that failing to do so will have consequences. Sherlock had at first rolled his eyes, then blushed at the threat, and, at John's request, he had murmured a “Yes, sir”. 

John hadn't heard the car approaching him. It stopped just next to him, the windows had buzzed open. A woman on the back seat had asked him if he wanted a ride, “Wouldn't that be better, considering your leg, Doctor Watson?” she had said smiling. 

They hadn't stopped at John's house, not that the doctor had expected to, and he had been driven to an opulent office he didn't recognize instead. 

Mycroft Holmes was sitting on a chair in front of him behind an antique-looking imposing wooden desk. Despite being a sub, as the collar clearly suggested, he surely didn't behave as one, and if John hadn't known any better, he was sure he would have found him intimidating. 

“Good evening, doctor” the sub had greeted him with a smile which maybe wanted to be gentle, but for some reason had turned out to be cold, he invited him to take sit on one of the comfy chairs in front of him.  
“I apologize for the quite abrupt way our first face to face encounter happened,” he said, “but see, it was important to not get my brother suspicious, he had always had the tendency to antagonize every attempt I do on his behalf,” he said with an exasperated tone.

“So you must be my employer, Sherlock's brother,” John said.  
Mycroft's mouth curved almost imperceptibly, in that the Dom recognized the kinship with Sherlock: he had said something stupidly obvious. The older Holmes, however, was too polite to point it out as the detective would. The sub smiled instead, “Yes, I am, Doctor, and I worry deeply for my brother's state,” he said gravely “and that's why I would like to follow every improvement he does, very closely". The last words had been said with more emphasis.

“I'm not sure I follow you,” John said, frowning.  
Again Mycroft quite patronizing smile irritated him, “See, Doctor,” the sub explained, “you are the first dominant who proved to be able to stay with my brother for more than a few minutes and, I assume from the state of your hand, you even managed to punish him” he added, the satisfaction on his face was way too obvious.  
“So, I would like to offer you a deal that I'm sure it would be beneficial for both,” he said, “I will give you a quite important raise on your paycheck, and in return, as an extra, I would ask you to send me detailed reports on Sherlock's training.” 

John smiled widely, finally, the real intentions of the man had been revealed, “I'm sorry to disappoint you,” he said, mimicking with way too much satisfaction Mycroft's over polite tone, “but my privacy policy is pretty clear: Sherlock is in therapy, and I won't share the details of his progress without his consent, not even with you.” 

Mycroft's cold smile fell, for a moment John's could see traces of Sherlock's temper on his face, but then the sub chuckled, “I understand, Doctor,” he said, “I'm glad to hear my brother is in such caring hands,” he stated, “however,” his tone changed, he wasn't wearing the well-mannered facade anymore, he was chilling and sharp “I don't want you to think I don't realize the delicate situation my brother had managed to put himself in and the vulnerable state he is in.” 

“Are you suggesting I would take advantage of him?” John asked raising an eyebrow at the insulting implication, his dominant voice had transpired quite more he intended to and the effect on the sub was visible but rapidly hidden, “I wouldn't dare to imply such thing, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft replied with an iced tone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave suggestions if you want, writing is kinda helping to pass time during this fucking second quarantine.

Sherlock knelt in front of John, his fingers were holding tightly his choice, not without a hint of regret already. He offered John the leather riding crop.

It wasn't punishment, the Dom had assured him, this was play.

He had come in the sub's flat early in the morning, not surprised to find Sherlock kneeling on a pillow in the center of the living room, as he had been told to.  
The detective had been shifting in and out from his Mind Palace for some time, unable to stay so long still in a place but not daring to move from the position John had told him to greet him in. 

When John had left, the day before, Sherlock had watched himself in the mirror. Light pink color and delicate traces of bruises forming were the only leftovers of his first punishment. Surprisingly the detective couldn't find in himself any grudge against the doctor, only a new wave of arousal at the idea he had been somehow marked by his hand. 

John had asked him to pick a toy from his bag and had left the sub to decide while he had a cup of tea in the kitchen.  
That was the only part of the scene Sherlock was going to have any word on and he didn't want to make it harder on the detective by staring at him as he inspected the collection of implements John had brought. A little semblance of control on the situation was all some subs needed, especially at the beginning, he had only made sure to remove any implement that would resemble a cane, given Sherlock's recent experience, and had left him with an otherwise rich range of toys. 

Sherlock had been searching the gym bag thoroughly, taking mental notes on the objects he didn't recognize, he would have to do some research after.  
He hadn't a real idea of what he would like, before yesterday, the few glimpses of arousal he had experienced in his life had been stolen to him in confused dreams, where he had been tortured in many ways and sodomized roughly by faceless Doms. He used to wake up, disgusted by his own erections and cum and scared by the horrid images that had caused it. 

When he had presented the implement, he had knelt without John asking him to. It had seemed appropriate, the detective had thought, that was how he had seen Mycroft asking anything to his own Dominant during that horrible time he had to live with the couple during the nth drug treatment of his. 

John had been quite surprised by Sherlock's choice at first, but it made sense, he guessed, so far the sub had experienced only spanking, and it was clear Sherlock didn't like the idea of trying something new yet.

He grabbed the black leather crop from Sherlock's shaking hands, “What a polite pet are we,” he said smiling, caressing the curls of the sub's bowed head. Sherlock made a face at the nickname but the praise still stroke him, calming a bit the trepidation that had been clenching his heart. 

“Undress,” John commanded, he was fiddling with the crop in his hands, not even looking at Sherlock as he obeyed. 

This time the detective had dressed up for John's visit. He unbuttoned quickly his shirt, trying to fight the trembling of his fingers, he thought for a second if it was right to stand up for taking his trousers off, and finally decided that it was. 

In less than a minute he was kneeling again, wearing only his pants.  
“Those too, boy,” John told sternly, without even glaring at him, still observing the riding crop as it had never seen one before.  
Sherlock blushed for a split second before complying. 

The sub's eyes were cast down, looking uncomfortably at his slender body. He had never liked it much, its angular figures and the way too pale skin, his long arms and legs weren't elegant at his eyes, resembling a scarecrow, and he had never felt particularly at ease naked. His body was only an unwanted weight to his intellect, always slowing him down with its annoyingly constant needs. 

“You are so beautiful,” John said, interrupting his thoughts, his hand raised Sherlock's chin up, forcing the sub to meet his eyes, “So obedient and perfect”, he praised caressing the detective's cheek, his voice was covered in sweetness and yet with a possessive glare in his eyes, almost predatory, that made the whole submissive's body tremble in a shiver. 

“Come with me,” the Dom ordered suddenly stopping his light touch. He stood up and, as Sherlock made to stand up too, John stopped him “Crawl, boy” he said sharply “I don't recall to have told you you to get on your feet”.  
Sherlock frowned at the order, the idea of his tall body clumsily crawling around was humiliating and unnecessarily uncomfortable, he thought about arguing, but the spell that John had going building on him didn't let his mouth open. He just stared with a meaningful glare that was easily translatable in 'Screw you, I won't'. 

John rolled his eyes, he grasped without the least trace of delicacy Sherlock's hair, dragging him to the living room. The sub, taken by surprise, tried to fight, managing only to yell an “Oi!” as he was forced to crawl, after all, scrambling his feet as he tried to catch up with the Doctor's pace to not get his scalp torn away. 

The Dominant stopped, he was still holding Sherlock's hair. He forced his head up, pulling firmly his head back. The sub's eyes had traces of tears and he was breathing furiously, glaring at John menacingly.  
“Do not act up, Sherlock” the Dom hissed “or forget about the play and we do another punishment instead” he threatened “and I can assure you it won't be so light as yesterday.”  
Sherlock's rage seemed to dissipate a bit but he was still glaring daringly at John. 

The doctor let his hair go with an exhausted sigh, a new wave of stinging pain hit the detective's scalp as he did.  
“Heel, Sherlock!” John barked, he had not raised his voice before.  
Sherlock's whole body reacted immediately, before he could even think about continuing his stubborn refusal, his hands went to his head and his back straightened up, ignoring the fact he was exposing his naked body doing so. He breathed deeply, as John had taught him yesterday, his head slowly returning to the calm of before, a new emotion he wasn't used to raising instead of anger. 

He was feeling guilty despite a voice in his head was pointing out the Doctor was the one who had asked him to be cruelly humiliated after he had been so good and compliant for him.  
He had disobeyed though. 

“Now, little brat,” John said, the anger in his voice was making Sherlock feeling little indeed, and only a part of him felt offended by the epithet, “Last chance, or this is getting very bad,” he warned, “Apologise, immediately.” 

Part of Sherlock's brain was still refusing to accept the blame for how the events had turned out, yet he swallowed before saying, maybe with too much force “I'm sorry, Sir”. 

He believed his own words as they came out, “Please, punish me, Sir” he added, whispering, his head bowed deeply, staring at John's shoes. 

The Doctor was still holding the crop in his hand, as Sherlock saw it moving, he shouted his eyes closed, embracing himself for the blow that never came. John raised his chin with the crop extremity, “Don't forget your position, boy” he said, quite sweetly. Sherlock, surprised, straightened up again instantly. 

“Ask me again, looking at me this time,” he said “You didn't seem to have a problem with that before, while you were trying to incinerate me with your glare” he added mockingly.  
Sherlock bit his lips, trying not to let his anger showing up again, he met quite defiantly John's eyes, “Please, Sir, may I be punished?” he said, more as a dare than the contrite plead he had had before. 

With his surprise though, John smiled, widely. It wasn't the sweet proud smile with which he was rewarded when he did something good, it was an almost frightening smile.  
Dare accepted then. 

“Forehead to the floor, hands clasped together on your back, Sherlock” John commanded. The submissive obeyed, his head hit the wooden floor with a deaf thud. He heard John retrieving the bag he had explored early, searching for something. 

The position Sherlock was now on was quite uncomfortable, his legs' muscles had started to hurt, stretched out as they were.  
He heard a little tube's cap snapping open, and cold liquid stuff suddenly touching the intern of his thighs. The sub jumped immediately gasping. 

“Go back to position, now” John's voice was heavy with inebriating command, he gave Sherlock a sharp stroke on his ass cheeks with the riding crop, making the sub shriek with pain.  
It was very different from John's hand, the sting started cold, letting his skin numb, and then fire raised in a thin line and burn in the spot where the extremity had landed. 

Sherlock's hands run to his backside instinctively trying to prevent another blow to fall.  
“That's not what I told you to do, boy” John threatened, “Forehead on the floor, hands clasped together on your back,” he instructed, more calmly and reassuringly.  
Sherlock inhaled deeply, returning with a little pleading moan to his position.  
“Good boy,” John whispered to him gently. The line left by the crop was fading leaving a warm pleasant sensation on Sherlock's skin, soothing him a bit in bliss within John's words.

As the fingers of the doctor entered him, Sherlock returned to moan, he moved, even if almost imperceptibly, trying to escape whatever was going on. “Hush and stay still” John tutted, a hint of displeasure returning in his voice.  
The sub froze immediately, allowing himself only to bite his lips. 

The detective's whole attention was focused entirely on what was going on, he didn't feel pain, just the coldness of the lube quickly fading and John's fingers stroking him intimately, entering and exiting with growing pace his hole. It was weirdly pleasant, the friction had started to burn him, a warmth he hadn't ever felt before, pleasant and punitive at the same time, raising his arousal in a frustrating way.  
Sherlock heard himself letting out noises of complaint and pleasure mixing together, his mouth had opened and he could feel saliva starting to drool from his mouth, his eyes, at first shouted with force, had rolled up. His legs were trembling with electric numbness, melting.

When John stopped, Sherlock was sure that if he would be able to talk he would have begged him, with any promise, to continue, to use him until his entire interiors were on fire and his hole sore, but all he did was gasping, his head had raised a bit, his body wanting to follow back John's hand. 

A metallic cold object took John's fingers place. The contact, so different and sudden, made Sherlock almost jump again, partially waking up from the state of bliss he had fallen into. He felt his hole opening, forcefully in a vaguely aching way, he grunted. He could feel his muscles trying, out of his control, to expel the object, but John pushed it deeply in him, giving him the last spark of blessed throb before the plug finally settled. 

“Back up, heel position, Sherlock” the Dom ordered. The sub obeyed with a wobbling movement. As he straightened, he could feel the new weight in him adjusting, he opened his mouth for a brief moment as he felt his hole, opening and clenching in pulse around the plug.  
He met John's eyes. Sherlock was pale, a light pink coloring his cheeks, his eyes dilated in lust. His erection was evident, but the sub seemed to have completely forgotten the shyness of before.

“Crawl to the corner, Sherlock, face the wall and stay” John ordered pointing with the crop to the far corner of the room.  
Sherlock's eyes dilated, he wondered if the Doctor was being serious, his humiliation had gone lost somewhen before, but he felt still ridiculed by the request. As if he had guessed his thoughts, John said “You behave like a pretentious brat, you get punished like one” he mocked, clearly satisfied with Sherlock's reaction, "Now, don't make me repeat myself again," he intimated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments and advice, I really like constructive criticism. As promised, I tried to take the Dom's side a bit more in this one, let me know if you liked it.

Sherlock's nose felt funny in the corner, it was like a tingling, his legs and arms had started to bend, and with any and slightest shift, his hole would send a new pulse around the plug accommodating the weight, making a sharp moan escape his mouth.  
There were moments in which he couldn't feel the plug, the coldness of the metal had completely subside, washed out by Sherlock's body warmth, and he was almost able to forget about it in him until a new pulse would suddenly remind him. 

In the beginning, he was sure he would have started to feel bored very quickly.   
He had crawled with wobbling arms and shaking knees, he had been scared at the idea the plug would go out as he moved but it just didn't. 

As he had gone to the spot John had cast him to, he had started to feel little and lost.  
He pictured himself in the corner like a naughty schoolboy caught chatting out of turn during class, he could feel the thin line the crop had left, or at least he tried to, the heat had gone so long ago and part of him was rationally sure nothing was left on him of that first and only bite he had of the crop's sting. He wished there were more, a fading heat on him to be his companion during his solitude. 

His neck had slowly bent, his eyes had passed from the wallpaper to the wooden baseboard as if his entire body wanted to become little and miserable as he fantasized to be.   
He had been bad, he kept telling himself, and he was being punished for it. He imagined himself with countless stripes on his back, kneeling on the corner, that thought would send liquid coziness to his bowels, down to his crotch. His erection had been fading and returning frustratingly, adding more blessed expiation for his amend. 

John was watching him, sitting on the couch, he had made sure to check the hour when Sherlock had finally reached the corner.   
The change in Sherlock had been so fast, he was sure the sub was on the verge of subspace, not totally gone but very close to it.   
The view of the submissive, going deeper and deeper in that gray state of mind, bending to his requests, and giving his obedience was hard to ignore. He would have liked to make a point of not watching at him, the deliberate lack of attention was the real core of this kind of punishment after all, but his glare would constantly drove back to the sub. 

He could see Sherlock shifting, he heard the gasps that the sub left out as the plug moved, his head bending showing his pale neck beneath the messy black curls. It was a beautiful picture indeed. Sherlock had been in abstinence for all his life, it shouldn't really surprise him that he would react so intensely to even the lightest scene, yet that response had touched John's darker and deepest chord. 

The crotch of his trousers had started to grow tight already when Sherlock had moaned in pornographic lust, following the movement of his fingers opening him up, craving for more. John had observed his flesh wobbling as the crop had fallen on his cheeks, the shriek that had filled the room tingling in his ears, the tremble in the whole sub's body that he had ignited while he had pushed the plug deeply in him so that the end of it was barely shining between his legs. 

And now, there he was, penitent as the worst sinner. He had started sniffing a while ago, as on the verge of tears. That had increased John's arousal, even more, he wanted to caress that hair and pulling them at the same time, to comfort him and punish him more, to comply with Sherlock's desire to be fucked tenderly and powerfully.   
He knew it was too soon, that doing so would be reckless damage to Sherlock's training purpose, he had to go gradually, he repeated himself. 

A hand caressed Sherlock's shoulders, gently making return him to a resemblance of reality, “Time is up,” John's voice cuddled him, “You have been such a good boy”.   
Sherlock purred, he didn't stand, he turned around, immersing himself in the other man's trousers, holding tightly the fabric, vaguely sensing the magnetic smell of arousal of John's arousal. 

John let his fingers run on Sherlock's curls, whispering sweet praises as the detective breath increased, warming his crotch, “Such a beautiful thing you are, so good for me,” his words went lost in the sub's mind, still gray and slowly returning in a more awakened state.   
Yet the image of the stripes on him was still very vivid in him, he craved it as it went less real in his head.   
He opened his eyes, moved his head aside, still holding tightly his Dom, and saw the crop John had left on the coffee table. 

Sherlock wanted to beg for it being used on him, the idea of it being humiliating seemed so far that it sounded ridiculous and insignificant, despite his breath had calmed down and he was starting to feel himself a bit, not the little brat he had been during the corner time anymore. 

“Sir,” he started, his voice sounded pleading, a bit more than a whisper, he stopped, did he really deserve it? Would John refused as he had ruined the scene already, maybe he had screwed up his chance, “What is it, pet?” the Doctor encouraged him, he had noticed the blue eyes had been staring at the crop. Sherlock licked his lips, trying to find his words again “Would you please use it on me?” 

John seemed to reflect a bit, taking pleasure in the impatient trepidation that his pause had caused on the sub, waiting worryingly, as he would refuse, maybe even mock his request “Are you going to behave?” he asked, danger permeating his tone.  
Sherlock immediately nodded with force, frowning only a bit at the clear provocation.   
The Doctor chuckled a bit, “Crawl to the coffee table then”.

Sherlock didn't' delay this time, he didn't stop to think about the flush of gratitude he felt was for something that would end to cause him pain. As he reached the table in clumsy movements, he stared at the crop. John followed him, purposefully slow even if he himself was impatient, he couldn't let the play fall. 

He took Sherlock's chin, forcing him once again to face him. His eyes were clouded, his pupil big in contrast with his iris' icy colour, the doctor could feel his heart pumping fast, “Stand up,” he commanded, with no severity in his tone, just liquid pure pleasure that almost melted Sherlock.   
The sub did, again the plug surprised him, his legs were shaking from the long time they had been kneeling. 

“Lay your palms flat on the table, Sherlock,” John said, the sub obeyed, the doctor gently invited him to open up his legs a bit with his walking stick, and pushed his lower back a bit down. Sherlock let himself be guided, raising up his ass. 

When John's touched the plug, Sherlock whimpered, “Should I leave this here so you remember to behave, or can I put it out?” John asked, twisting the end of the plug a bit, savoring the tremble of the sub's legs. 

“Please, sir, take it out,” Sherlock begged, biting his lips as John kept toying with the metallic thing, “I'll be good, I promise” he wasn't sure he wanted to be heard or if he wanted John to say no to torture him a bit more.

“Mmmh” John considered while he pushed the end a bit further in him, the sub moaned, “I guess we can try,” he said finally.   
Without warning he started to pull the plug out, the detective gasped as John twisted the plug, slowly, his hole clenched around it, and then the weight was gone. 

Sherlock wheezed, “Thank you, sir” he said with a shaking voice, and he indeed felt like John had just rewarded him immensely.   
John put the plug on the table, Sherlock frowned at how little the object was in reality, it had felt enormous, he thought. 

When the crop fell, Sherlock screamed. John had started with a minimum momentum, caressing his white skin with the end of it for a brief moment after the first blow, before giving him another on the other cheek.   
He let only the end to touch Sherlock's skin, gradually increasing the pace but never giving it too much force and pausing frequently to tease him with it, watching the sub waiting with bated breath the next wave of pain. His erection had started to painfully grow in his trousers.

The crop was indeed such a wonderful instrument, an icon even, it could be so sweet and at the same time break easily the skin. John had met subs who liked to bleed under it, to be whipped without the minimum preparation, to just feel the white pain of few powerful strokes, but he didn't really enjoy it as much as he enjoyed this, to slowly see the heat building up, the colour change, going darker and beautiful red and the moans becoming screams and tears. 

Sherlock had been moving, shifting forward, away from the blows but always returning back, silently wanting for more despite the burn, John didn't reprimand him, silently enjoying seeing the sub fighting between pleasure and pain.

At the start, the crop had felt overwhelming on his cold skin and Sherlock had been sure he couldn't take it, he had screamed with real pain, but the more it went on more it had turned in that liquid pleasure he had felt when John had spanked him.   
His skin had gone on fire, and every blow had started to send shivers of powerful arousal and he now was sure he would never get enough of it, he wanted his skin to feel warm and tender more and more.

John had to fight to not get himself lost, he had started to give a quite decent momentum, it would bruise, he thought, it would mark Sherlock as his and his alone, he would feel his hand on him constantly for days, quietly smarting but constant.   
The panted shrieks each blow provoked were a true blessing and each time the sub exposed himself a bit more, going liquid beneath the pain that he was inflicting, he could feel he was losing his mind. 

He gave Sherlock's a few blows on his sitting spot, where the flesh was tenderly sensitive and the detective finally broke out, “Please, please, please” he repeated, confusingly. John let the crop caressing him, stroking him beneath the curve of his cheeks, stopping his torture for a moment, and at the same teasing cruelly, “Please what?” he asked, his tone had gone deep, predatory.   
Sherlock took a few gasping breaths, he again rose his cheeks, searching contact with the crop that was so gently igniting the warmth, exposing himself more, “Please, sir, let me come” he shook, his whole body was trembling, his hair was sweaty and hiding his face. 

John smiled widely, those words falling deeply in him, filling his cock. He bent, reaching for Sherlock's ear, “Come for me, then” he whispered, and the sub did, collapsing flat on the table.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, suggestions and requests are welcome.  
> Hope you like it, this is getting more smutty than I intended it to go, but I have no idea where I intend to go anyway, I'm not totally convinced about this chapter, but whatever.
> 
> Next time Greg and Mycroft, I promise, I just wanted to give Sherlock and John some time first.

John looked at Sherlock collapsing on the table, he had come powerfully “I could watch you like this all day, you know?” he whispered in his ear, hidden below his messy curls.  
When John touched his sensitive now softening cock, Sherlock whimpered loudly, convulsing between wanting to jump away and the sweet exhaustion he had melted into. John stroke him first slowly then again with more force, making a panted grunt escape from the sub's mouth, “Thank me, Sherlock” he commanded, he was grinning hungrily at the other man's convulsed movements.

Sherlock panted, and obeyed, his brain barely thinking about the words, he stammered, “Thank you, Sir”, the last word got on a pinching tone as John stroke his cock again, sending a new lightening on his oversensitive skin and the pleasant trembling in his legs.  
“Very good, my boy” John praised, finally letting him go.  
Sherlock again collapsed, breathing heavily, even the part of him that had wanted to continue his torment forever had given up. 

John kissed him, tenderly, covering his forming bruises, and then caressed his hair. He was kneeling next to him, moving his hair soaked with sweat, to finally meet his eyes. He kissed his forehead, and Sherlock smiled weakly, with his head still on the table. John smiled back at him. 

Sherlock fell asleep in John's arms. The Dom had kissed and praised him until the exhausted sub had let himself slip in dreams.

The doctor looked at him, so peacefully sleeping, snuggling deep in John's chest like showering in his scent. His own arousal had gone softening, even if he had wanted to fuck Sherlock's bruised flesh so much it had ached as the sub had been trembling around his hand stroking his oversensitive cock, he knew that would have been too soon, that it would probably overwhelm him. 

He watched the catlike detective, curled up naked against him, his chest rising up and down in calm, and he wanted now to just take care of that little sub, so good for him, he wanted to protect him and treasure him so intensely.  
He let his hand caress Sherlock's hair, and then his back, sighing. Sherlock's backside had been cooling down, John could feel the blisters the riding crop had left, his skin was swollen and peachy.

The doorbell woke up Sherlock. He jumped up from the arms holding him, watching then confused at John, and frowning as he felt the pain on his backside. He could feel the lube and cum had dried out on his skin, unpleasantly.  
“It must be the lunch, let me get it,” John said reassuringly, “You can put something on and clean yourself up,” the Dom said, anticipating Sherlock's thoughts.  
The sub nodded, still dazed by the unusual deep sleep he had fallen into, just vaguely protesting in his mind he didn't need John's permission to get dressed.

When he arrived in the kitchen he was wearing only a pair of boxers and his blue dressing gown. A pizza was on the table and his now kneeling pillow was near a chair.  
Sherlock looked at it, a voice in his head urged him to protest, despite he knew that would mean further punishment, a slithering voice craved for that idea, it would maybe make him return in that sweet soft bubble he had been into, where everything of this seemed so easy and pleasant. But he wanted to return in John's arms, to cling against him again as if his little trip to the restroom had separated them for an eternity, so he just rolled his eyes and knelt. 

John watched as Sherlock took every bite from his fingers, chewing slowly and swallowing for then let his forehead leaning against the doctor's knee. The Dom's mind was lingering in the thought he was nurturing his boy, that his most primal need was in his hands, and he caressed every time Sherlock's lips, as in silent praise for letting himself be taken care of. 

The detective had started to feel full shortly after a few bites, he wasn't really used to get proper meals, he fasted during cases and usually forget to eat the rest of the time, it was a boring chore to him in which he didn't really put much effort into.  
As John handed him another bite, he just shook his head against the doctor's knee, “Come on, Sherlock, ” the Dom tried to convince him, “One of the rules is that you have to eat, remember?” a hint of threat had appeared in his soft tone.  
Sherlock looked up at him with a glower glare at that, but he took the bite anyway, John had to hold a laugh at the detective's spout. 

As the lunch went on, peacefully, Sherlock could feel himself floating again a bit, his eyes had gone bigger every time John had smiled at him as he took the food from him, and as his legs went numb from kneeling. He had started taking deep breaths in the doctor's trousers, craving for more, melting and licking with more lust the fingers that were feeding him. 

John took his chin, and kissed his lips intensely, hungrily, Sherlock let himself be taken, whimpering as the Dom bit his lips lightly, “Such a good boy,” John murmured, letting him go and getting up to put the plate in the sink. 

“Let's try something new,” John said, standing right in front of him, Sherlock's eyes were cast down, looking at the Dom's shoes and the end of his metal walking stick, he was smiling, licking away the irony taste from his burning lips. 

“This is about obedience, Sherlock, so you have to do as you are told” John continued, grabbing Sherlock's chin once again, forcing him to watch him and listen closely, “fail to do so and you earn punishment, clear?” he said, a hint of a grin was in his mouth and sparkle of danger in his eyes as his voice had gone stern.  
Sherlock frowned, suddenly more awake from the sweet pause the lunch had been, he frowned, he still wanted John's comfort but the voice of the doctor had intrigued his deepest need and had made his heart throb, “Yes, Sir” he answered. 

“Open your mouth”, Sherlock obeyed, John's fingers entered his mouth, he licked them, and then he sucked on them, deeply, searching for approval in the doctor's clear eyes. 

John grabbed his curls and pulled his hand away, ignoring Sherlock's teeth that for a brief moment inevitably clenched around his fingers, not enough to actually bite him though.  
“I didn't tell you to suck, boy” he scolded, pulling his hair.  
Sherlock's eyes went wide with surprise and then annoyance appeared on his face, feeling almost betrayed by John's rough reprimand and abrupt stop to something he was sure the Dom was enjoying, just to make a point, he thought.

“Let's try again, and be more focused this time.”  
Once again, at John's command, Sherlock opened his mouth, the Dom's fingers, still wet with his own salivar, rested in the sub's mouth. This time Sherlock waited, impatience was transpiring from him. He let just his tongue to touch barely the Dom's skin, meeting with a daring glare the doctor's eyes.  
He wasn't going to fall for the same trick again.

“Now, suck” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he complied, sucking John's fingers to the knuckles, increasing his enthusiasm as he went on, not moving his glare from John's, looking at the Dom's eyes filling with lust and sure his provocation wasn't going unnoticed.  
“Stop,” John commanded, Sherlock sucked him the last time briefly licking with delicate force the skin that had gone wrinkling, before letting him go, with a facade of innocence that John wanted to destroy. 

“Would you like something better to suck, boy?” John growled, Sherlock smiled widely, victorious, “Do you think I deserve so, sir?” he asked with a poorly pretended humility.

John seemed to think, for a brief moment, “Maybe,” he said teasingly, “but not yet” he finished.  
Before Sherlock could argue, John's fingers returned in his mouth, “Suck, again, boy,” the doctor commanded. For a moment Sherlock delayed to obey, surprised by the response he had gotten, but then, with far less enthusiasm, he returned to suck the doctor's fingers. 

“Don't believe for a second you are in charge of this game, Sherlock” John threatened, his voice had gone deep, “or that you can manipulate me to get what you want,” he said pushing his fingers deep in Sherlock's throat, before pulling his hand back. 

John made Sherlock repeat the same exercise a couple of times. The sub's grudge had gone fading, he sheepishly obeyed at John's same commands over and over, sucking his fingers when asked to, and stopped when asked to, and repeated again, meeting John's eyes with an increasing plea. 

The Dom arousal had gone building, a transparent strand of drool was falling from Sherlock's mouth and the sub was sucking with thirst his fingers that had lost sensibility a while ago.  
He once again pulled his hand away from him, Sherlock licked his lips, succumbed at the idea, and waiting to repeat the same task, but John grabbed his head instead. 

He pushed the sub's head against his crotch, feeling Sherlock inhaling deeply, sensing his smell and his hardening cock, “Use that beautiful mouth of yours,” he murmured. 

Sherlock looked at him with his icy clouded eyes, as his teeth bit the zip, and carefully, teasingly slowly he opened it. John fastened his belt, the sub was looking at him in trepidation, lost in his lust and smiling weakly waiting.  
“Open,” John commanded, Sherlock did, and the Dom's cock entered his mouth.  
The sub waited, his heart pumping fast in his chest, the bubble had returned to embrace him even if it was different from before, less foggy and more sharpened with stingily pure sex.  
He could feel the musky scent of John's pubes and the salty taste of pre-cum, it was inebriating, he closed his eyes, losing himself in it.  
John sighed deeply, caressing his curls, “Suck me, boy” he said, biting his lips, feeling the warmth of Sherlock's mouth around him and his tongue stroking delicately his length. 

The sub increased pace slowly, feeling the veins of the Dom's cock pulsing in his mouth, around his lips. John's wet fingers were tightening around his curls as he went on, possessively preventing him to back away.  
He could hear John was starting to moan, that almost drove him insane, he was making his Dom happy, filling him with pleasure, reproaching the favor John had made him earlier that morning. He was useful, fulfilled, “My good boy”. He sensed vaguely his own cock was twisting inside his pants but he didn't let it distract him this was about his Dom and his pleasure alone. 

John came, a salty flavor invaded Sherlock's mouth, the sub swallowed part of it and kept sucking, covering the Dom's softening length with slow moments, opening his eyes to meet John's deep black pupils, “Stop,” the doctor panted, Sherlock immediately obeyed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to D_Mystrade_Now_01, thank you for your support and your suggestion, hope you like it.

John's refusal had been constantly bugging Mycroft for the whole day.   
He had thought about using one of the many levers his men had found about the doctor, his alcoholic sister for instance, but it had seemed like playing a powerful card too soon and with little gain, the doctor's lack of money had seemed a good shot.

Despite his quite notorious reputation among trainers, the doctor seemed to have the bad habit to work basically for free, adjusting his fees to the financial situation of his clients, or patients, as John would call them, rather than demanding what he really was worth and he sticked with a strict monogamy policy.   
That should have told Mycroft that money would not be such a good lever, but on the other hand, it had given him the chance to test the man whose hand he had trusted his brother in. 

He sighed heavily thinking about Sherlock, the picture of him at the hospital, dazed by the drugs they had to injected him with to calm him down. The doctors had explained to Mycroft it had been necessary, Sherlock had been in a state of blind rage and emotional breakdown, he had been violent against anyone that had tried to come near him. So they sedated him, like a rabid stray. 

They had asked him about his brother's Dominant, “They could help him to set, once he wakes up,” Mycroft's world had collapsed. He had coldly answered Sherlock had been registered as Dominant, the doctor had scoffed at that, filling Mycroft with deep irritation. He wasn't used to playing the fool.

And now he was feeling as lost and fool as he had felt then, he had to trust someone else to take care of the situation, over which he clearly had been stripped of any authority or control.   
He had put a shadow over John, to spy on the man, perfectly conscious that Sherlock would eventually notice, a glimpse of control poorly trying to overcome the worry he felt about his brother.

When Greg had come home, Mycroft had been kneeling in front of the door, naked except for his collar, his head bowed down, he was keeping a leash in his mouth in a silent request.   
“Everything is alright, pet” the Dom had told him, caressing his thin hair delicately, “I'll take care of you.” 

They hadn't been playing a proper scene for the past week, Mycroft had been in need of comfort over anything, but the grudge and deep sense of powerlessness hadn't allowed him to properly submit. Greg, on the other side, had been swinging between rage against the abusive bastard that had made Sherlock snap and against Sherlock himself for being clearly a reckless idiot and deep worry for his friend's well-being. 

He took the leather leash from Mycroft's mouth, caressing his cheek as he did so, the sub leaned against his hand, desperate for contact. The click of the leash attaching to his black collar sounded like freedom, and he accepted it, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. 

Greg looked at him, his chest full of warm pride, he couldn't believe that such an intelligent, beautiful human being was his and his alone.   
When they had first met, Greg had been sure Mycroft was just playing with him, using him to fulfill his physiological needs. No shame in that, many subs and Doms overcame their need for play with occasional partners and scenes, but Greg had always been quite old fashioned, his dominance was about real trust, obedience, and commitment. He still laughed remembering Mycroft's face when he had refused his invitation.

He pulled the leash, with a forceful jerk, Mycroft fell in all four with a pant.   
Greg walked around him, inspecting him closely, contemplating his naked, obscenely exposed sub. He pinched his ass cheek, Mycroft let a little adorable scream of surprise and shifted away.   
The Dom tutted, coloring his skin with a sharp slap, “Only a few days and you already forget how to behave?” he asked teasingly, pleasure ran in him as he saw the sub tensing. 

He again jerked the leash, less intensely this time, a not verbal order to follow him. Mycroft crawled behind him, following him to their bedroom. 

“Stay,” Greg ordered when they reached the bed feet, a little danger in his voice even if he knew his sub wouldn't dare to move anyway. Mycroft stood on his knees, his hands laid behind his back, waiting. 

He could hear Greg opening the closet behind him, where they stored their collection of toys, an hint of fear and trepidation clenched his heart. He heard his Dom, deliberately slow in picking what he would use on him.   
Then darkness fell on his eyes, a blindfold was being fastened around his head.  
He liked blindfolds, really, it had been an acquired taste, he had needed time to let his Dom take away his sight, but now it just meant he didn't have to worry to predict what would happen next, he just had to flavor the sensations as they came, unexpectedly. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold, inhaling the smell of the fabric that was so familiar to him. 

A hand clenched around his collar, forcing him to stand and guiding him over the soft bed, he walked on his knee over the sheets.   
“Bend, forehead down” Greg instructed.   
A coarse jute rope scratched his wrists, securing them together, stretching his arms towards the bed frame. He heard the ropes running through the bed's bars, and the tension holding him in place as Greg tied him to the bed. 

When the Dom touched him, caressing his thighs in gentle circles with the wooden paddle he had picked, the sub leaned forward, exposing his backside arching his spine. The paddle was cold against his skin, he craved it.   
The paddle left him for a brief moment before falling sharply against his flesh, the crack that the impact produced thundered in Mycroft's ears, he barely heard the scream he left out. 

Greg smiled, looking at the flesh turning pink, and the imperceptible movement the sub's legs made to escape the next blow before returning to touch the paddle, obediently submitting.   
The Dom draw another circle on the reddening flesh before letting another blow fall, on the same spot, looking the cheeks tremble and the muscles tensing, and the second screams of pain fell deep in him.   
The paddle he had picked was wide enough to cover both cheeks at once, he let it fell various times, always pausing to caress the increasingly sensitive skin before igniting him with a new colour, gradually raising the momentum of his movement, ignoring his arm getting tired and showering in Mycroft's shrieks. 

The sub screams increased in volume, barely suffocated by the mattress, interrupted only by occasional moans. The increasing burn was sending him deep in the craved space where his worries would disappear, where he wasn't himself anymore. 

The sub's skin soon turned of a deep red colour, and his legs were trembling visibly now, but still waiting with conflicted wish the next time the paddle would fall, arching back to position. Greg chuckled deeply as he left the paddle aside.   
Mycroft whimpered, a protest maybe or a sound of relief, “Oh, pet, I'm not quite done yet,” the Dom assured him. He brushed his work with satisfaction, making Mycroft whimper once again, with a sob. 

When he heard the lube cap snapping, Mycroft arched, even more, opening himself without been told to, waiting with sweet disquietude what was next.  
Greg's fingers entered him, painfully and uncomfortably, brushing his inside between his burning cheeks. He moaned loudly, moving back to search him as his Dom slowly started to fuck him, to prepare him to be used. 

The DI grinned, teasing his little sub, so needy and impatient, he rubbed him, feeling his hole slowly relaxing around his fingers while he entered and went deep in him for then pulling them out, bringing weak moans of protest. He took the silicon plug he had left beside him, pushing it first with delicacy then with force inside Mycroft, who this time let a grunt of clear disappointment.

“You are getting a little greedy, you know that?” Greg said with a forced facade of displeasure at his sub's manners. Mycroft stayed still for a brief moment, conflicted between apologizing or not, “No, I am not” he said instead, his voice ridiculously pinched against the sheets. 

Greg grabbed his collar, forcing the sub to uneasily raise his head, “Talking back, little brat?” he asked mockingly, his voice between a laugh and actual threat, “That really doesn't suit you, does it?”, Mycroft's only answer was a sharp grunt, Greg let him go, and the sub's head fell again against the mattress. 

The paddle fell again, punitive this time, against his sitting spot. Mycroft could feel his hole clenching against the plug inside him at each blow, the increasing warmth against his already mistreated skin turning fast into agony and humiliating amend in the darkness he was.   
Greg didn't pause to brush him with the implement of his torment this time, he kept going, faster and faster on the same spot, turning his thighs in a numb and undefined burnt and filling his cock with arousal as he felt his flesh undoubtedly bruising deeply and sobs starting to strangle his throat.

His fingers grasped the rope around wrists, his toes curled as he tried to stay still in position and not let the instinct to shift away from the blessed scorching pain overcoming him.   
When Greg stopped, Mycroft was crying, tears and spit had gone mixing, wetting the sheets. 

The Dom touched the plug end, and the sub grunted as he pulled it out without any warning or delicacy, his cock was aching, it had grown against his trousers, pre-cum was already drooling from its end.

Mycroft shrieked as he entered him, slowly but forcefully, moaning as his whole length rested for a moment inside his sub. He once again grabbed with two fingers Mycroft collar, pulling him against his cock, preventing any escape.   
He then pulled back, to enter him again with renovated force.   
“You are mine, aren't you, Mycroft?” he grunted as he started to fuck him with increasing pace, “Yes, sir” the sub whimpered, melting beneath him, his hole getting loose and pleasantly burning, “Please use me, sir” he managed to pant, tears were still rolling from his eyes beneath the blindfold. 

And Greg complied, he rode him, pushing himself in him with his hips, feeling the warmth of Mycroft's almost purple ass, renewing the pain in the moaning sub, “Please, Sir” Mycroft panted, “May I come, please, I'll be good, I promise” the sub plead In confused rushed words, hearing himself vaguely from the depths of subspace.   
“Come, boy, my beautiful brat” Greg growled, “Come for me, show me how much you like it” and Mycroft came, Greg felt his body tensing around him for a split second, collapsing with sobbed moans.  
He came inside him immediately after, his whole body trembled with a sparkle, he let the sub collar go, grabbing his hair instead before letting him go and fall on the bed, next to his beloved sub.

Greg lifted the blindfold, the sudden light blinded Mycroft, he blinked annoyed by it. His Dom was smiling at him as he brushed his tears away, he smiled back.  
His ropes had been removed, he shifted against Greg, nuzzling in his chest. The DI hugged him, caressing his sweaty hair, and kissed him, “Are you feeling better now, pet?” he asked with a voice so sweet that melted Mycroft's heart, “Yes, thank you, sir” he murmured.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I still manage to write chapters without having to give up on my own kinks so much, so here a bit of plot and dialogue, I hope it is not boring.   
> As always, suggestions, comments, and request are very welcome, I'm so grateful for the response I'm receiving, you guys are making this shitty time so much better, thank you so much.

When John entered the apartment of Baker Street, he found Sherlock laying on the couch. His hands were united, as in pray, and his eyes closed, “Leave, John,” his deep voice murmured, “I am busy now.” 

After the last quite intense scene that had introduced Sherlock to the pleasures of subspace, they hadn't seen each other for two days.   
The doctor, after he had come in Sherlock's mouth, had cuddled him and praised him. They had passed the rest of the afternoon peacefully, the sub had been nuzzling and napping frequently on John's lap, searching constantly for his comfort as if his mind had not still totally surrendered at the idea it was time to come back to reality.

The morning after the detective had dryly texted him he had work to do and wouldn't be available. John had respected his need for space, he would still check on him daily, he texted him on how he was doing, if he was eating and sleeping regularly, he had obtained only short dismissive answers but nothing that sounded like a drill of danger. 

“Oh, I know you are busy,” John said, “Detective inspector Lestrade called me,” he added. Sherlock opened his eyes for a brief moment, he glared at John, sighed, and then returned to his strange meditation position. 

When Greg's text had arrived, Sherlock had been thrilled: a serial killer, a note from a victim, it was music for his ears, but then the sudden realization had stroke him.  
The fact that undoubtedly he had been the favorite gossip of Scotland Yard for the past few days, that he had pretended to be a Dom all along, and, even worse, he had been caught in his lie.  
He had thought about calling John, to ask him with a petty excuse to come along, the fact that he didn't work well with the coroner wasn't even a lie, but then he discharged the idea, laughing at how ridiculous he was, behaving like a clingy child.

Then Donovan, after Sherlock had humiliated her exposing her affair, had said with a malicious voice, “Oh, little freak, you know you don't need to misbehave like that, if you need a spanking you can always ask”, she had smiled coldly. Sherlock had frozen, he had heard distantly Greg yelling at the woman, defending him. 

He had left the scene shortly after, retrieved the bag that none of those idiots seemed to have noticed had gone been missing and he had returned home. 

The ceramic teapot pinged.   
John looked at it frowning, “Sherlock, why is the teapot ringing?” he asked, that was quite a new sentence, he guessed.  
“It was bothering me” the sub answered dryly.  
With a sigh, John opened the teapot and retrieved the phone in it. 

15 unread messages: 'Sherlock, I know it's you, return Greg his phone, immediately. - MH'

“Why do you have Lestrade's phone?” John asked, he was trying to be calm with the sub, the absurdity of the situation was kind of helping him with the rage he knew he should be feeling.   
“My number is on the internet, he has a phone for personal use and a work one, I needed an unknown number” Sherlock explained plainly, “Also he was been annoying, I pickpocket him when he is annoying” he added. 

John looked at him, quite dazed, he cleared his voice, but Sherlock spoke before he could, “You know,” he started, opening his eyes, “My brother has enough power to throw half of the world in a nuclear holocaust,” he said, his voice was profound, “Yet, his Dom texts him to remember him he is not allowed to touch himself every time he goes on a business trip” he considered, there was no mocking in his tone. 

Before John could answer, the door slammed open.   
Greg Lestrade and two agents stormed into the flat, “Where is it, Sherlock?” the DI yelled immediately, glaring only for a short moment the doctor.  
The detective glared at him briefly, without bothering to get up from his couch, “Oh so you figured it out, you just needed an hour and 34 minutes, maybe you are not so hopeless after all,” he said with cold sarcasm. 

“Do you want me to order a search in your flat?” Lestrade tried to soothe the anger in his tone, unsuccessfully, “Considering your past, I wouldn't have any difficulty to have a warrant,” he threatened.  
“You know Mycroft's minions made sure to clear any stash I had,” Sherlock said, there was a hint of a smile on his face now.   
“Oh, yes, I know that, but still I will make sure to have as many men as possible and to take it as slowly as possible” Greg retorted. 

Sherlock sighed deeply, “Bedroom, closet,” he said simply. 

Greg made a sign to his men, they immediately went to the room Sherlock had indicated, “I told you hundreds of times, Sherlock, you can't steal pieces of evidence or heads will roll, including mine” the Dom yelled, getting menacingly nearer to the sub. 

John stood in front of him. He handed the phone to the DI, “Nice to meet you in person, I think this belongs to you” he said smiling. He knew Greg wouldn't hurt Sherlock in any way, but seeing his sub scolded by another Dom had triggered something deep on him. 

“Selfish bastard,” Greg murmured, grabbing his phone.   
He then changed expression, smiling at John, “You know, I am an expert on dealing with the Holmes,” he said cordially, “We could have our little support group.”   
John chuckled. 

The agents returned in the living room, holding a striking pink suitcase, “Well, good luck, Doctor Watson,” Greg said, “I will let you deal with him”.

When they were finally alone again, John walked near Sherlock, limping heavily.   
The detective was making a point of not opening his eyes again, even if John was sure he was hearing closely any movement he did. He grabbed Sherlock's ear between his fingers, and he jerked him up from the couch.   
Sherlock tried to break free, “Fuck off, John, I don't want to play” he panted.   
John pulled his ear down, forcing him to his knees, “We are not playing, Sherlock” the doctor said, “Heel” he commanded sharply. 

Sherlock wanted to get up, to return to his mind palace, but yet something in John's tone forced him to assume the kneeling position that was becoming more and more familiar to him. As he delayed to fully obey, John twisted his ear painfully, “I said heel, Sherlock” he barked, the anger was red in his voice and his tone had raised.   
Sherlock clasped his hands behind his head and he straightened his spine, he looked at John with rage as his ear, finally released, was throbbing painfully. 

“I thought we had covered the part where you talk to me with respect, boy,” he said, his voice was so low that it almost scared the sub “And on how you are supposed to greet me,” he scolded sternly, “Now, please, tell me what is bothering you.” 

Sherlock thought of various cruelly sarcastic answers he could give to that, what was wrong was the fact he had to kneel in front of an idiot while a killer was running free, that he had left himself go weak, attached. 

“Donovan insulted me at the crime scene,” he said instead, “And Lestrade defended me” he explained, his tone had gone weakening.   
'How dare he', John thought with sarcasm, but he let the sub explain himself, “I don't need him to defend me, he is just as idiotic as she is, as everyone is” he growled, “You all live so happily in your little simple microcosm, not seeing anything unless it's rubbed on your face,” he spatted, he didn't care to hide his anger anymore.

Silence fell for a few seconds, Sherlock could hear his own heart pumping, his ear was still hurting and every muscle of his body was tensing, he didn't seem able to calm his breath as much as he tried. He focused his gazed on John's shoes, he had seen anger and disappointment in the Dom's eyes that had stroke him deep in his soul. 

“I apologize, Sherlock,” John said, the sub looked up at him surprised, “I didn't realize that two days would be enough to throw you off so badly,” he said, there was real contrition and worry in his tone, and that fed both Sherlock's rage and guilt. The doctor caressed him, waiting for the boy to settle a bit, trying to soothe the painfully strong emotion that was clenching Sherlock's chest.

“Are you going to punish me?” he asked with a whisper. Donovan's face returned to torment him, her smile as she had seen the effect of her dominant voice and her words had had on him, “Yes, pet” John said “Not because you got angry and yelled, I am glad you told me what was wrong,” he added, “But for cursing at me and pickpocketing Greg.” 

“Because he is a Dom?” Sherlock asked, his voice for a second returning cold, “No, because he is a good person who cares deeply about you and he doesn't deserve that” John reproached, “You can pickpocket that Donovan any time you want” he added.   
Sherlock laughed sincerely at that.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock grunted sharply, causing a new wave of bitterish taste and blazing saliva to climb up his nose. His fingers curled, his nails biting down the wood of the chair he was bending on, his legs folded. He chocked around the soap bar, almost bitten in two, secured firmly between his teeth as he prepared himself for the next blow of the belt. 

John knew that he couldn't really demand Sherlock's mind to focus on his punishment for a long time and to forget the case, so he had to pick something effective and quick but still intense.   
He had thought about strapping the sub's hands, it had seen appropriately fitting his crime, but Sherlock's knuckles were still wearing the fading signs of the beating the detective had given to that bastard. 

Sherlock had asked for his punishment, there hadn't been the waiting game that usually preceded the request to finally get out from the sub's mouth. He wanted to be done as soon as possible, to be forgiven, and to clear out all those emotions fighting in his head. 

John had nodded, he had left the sub kneeling in the living room. Sherlock had started to fall in the sweet guilt he felt when he was in trouble, knowing that soon forgiveness will come, that he would earn it, through hot pain and tears. 

When John had returned with a new bar of soap he had found in that mess of Sherlock's bathroom. The detective had looked at it for a brief moment, a hint of regret had raised from the pit of his stomach and he had glared meaningfully at his Dom. You can't be serious, he had thought. 

“I don't like to repeat myself, boy,” John said, “Open your mouth, now” the Dom ordered for the second time. Sherlock's whole body had shaken in refusal, but he finally managed to open his mouth.   
The Dom had grabbed his mandible, tightly, forcing the sub's mouth to open enough for the soap to enter. Sherlock immediately gagged as his tongue instinctively licked the foreign object, his body urged him to spit it out, “Don't you dare, boy” John growled as if reading his mind, grabbing for a brief moment Sherlock's curls.

“Give me your belt, Sherlock” John commanded him. He had put a chair in the middle of the room and he was now waiting for Sherlock to obey. 

The sub hands were trembling as he reached for his own buckle, he made the leather run through the belt loops, he folded it in half before handing it with both hands and head bowed to his Dom. 

The familiar sensation of trepidation mixed with fear filled Sherlock's chest as he shakily climbed over the chair, hands flat on the seat. The air was cold on his naked legs, he was still wearing his pants, but not for long, he was sure. 

John contemplated his sub, the overwhelming awe he could feel radiating from him touched his deepest core, he could feel his cock blossoming with arousal already at that sight alone.   
He hadn't been lying when he had told Sherlock he didn't like to repeat himself, the fact he had to punish him for the second time for the same offense actually annoyed him, but he couldn't help to feel pleasure on seeing Sherlock sticking up his pearly arse, obediently waiting for his punishment.

John let his fingers ran over the leather of Sherlock's belt, it was undoubtedly real quality hide. For someone who seemed to care so little about anything materialistic, Sherlock sure had a taste for expansive clothes.  
He secured the belt around his hand and without losing time on giving Sherlock any comfort, he rose his arm and let the belt fall heavily on his sub's curve. 

Sherlock's scream was muffled by the soap, little white bubbles formed around his lips, his eyes had gone wide with surprise at the strength of the blow, “I warn you, boy” John said, straightening up the belt for the next blow, “If that bar falls from that disrespectful mouth of yours, I'm starting all over again”. His tone was dark and heavy in threat, Sherlock believed him without any doubt. 

He was quite thrown off by the severity John was showing, he had soon started to feel little, defenseless, miserable, and humiliated, his cock had started to fill as he felt the warmth of the blow fading slowly from his skin. 

The belt fell, again and again, each time Sherlock would try to scream, biting down in the soap instead, he panted and drowned in the disgusting flavor as the surface of the bar went melting from his saliva, Moans tried to climb from his throat.   
Without him even realizing, his legs had started to bend, trying to escape the torture of that dreadful belt, straightening up only after John had paused, silently waiting for him to return in position.   
And he did, quietly wanting to beg John for forgiveness for his involuntary transgression. 

He wanted to be good, the wish was so intense that it ached inside him, he wanted to be a good boy again. John's hand caressed his warm cheeks, making part of the burning hot sensation fade away, Sherlock arched, searching the doctor's hand, hungry for contact. 

John let himself linger a bit on Sherlock's cotton pants, the redness the belt had caused was transpiring from the white fabric, his now pink thighs contrasted delightfully with it. The Dom stroke them, drawing gentle circles, slowly, as tasting the warmth radiating from his flesh.   
He grabbed the pants elastic, smiling as he heard Sherlock's little sounds of the panicked complaint, he pulled them down, letting them run down to the sub's ankles, contemplating the red wide stripes his strapping had left. The marks of their last scene were there, fading beneath the new signs he had drawn. 

He then stepped back, almost struggling to separate himself from touching that soft, deliciously sensitive skin and the purrs his touch caused in Sherlock. He rose his arm once again, all the way up, and then it left it to fall. The belt cracked deafening on Sherlock's backside, the sub shrieked. 

Sherlock's skin was throbbing, he gasped around the bar, searching desperately for air as sobs clenched his throat, causing new bubbles to form, they invaded his nose, tingled his eyes, and something broke, deep down in him, he actually started to cry.  
His erection was pushing painfully against the chair, and his mind had gone white, the only thing he could think about, even if in a very confused stream of thoughts, was how naughty he felt.

John made the strap fall a few more times, he did not decrease his force, as much as delightfully cruel he knew the punishment was being, he needed to make a point. He could hear Sherlock's contrite cry, desperate for absolution and yet offering each time his backside to the belt, and his arousal filling the air, matching his own. 

When John stopped, his arm was aching a bit, Sherlock was trembling, and even after he heard the Dom putting the belt down, he stayed still, returning in position, fighting the hiccups that were shaking him from the inside.

John touched him, caressing his backside gently, feeling the swollen of his burning hot flesh. With his other hand, he grabbed the bar of soap. Sherlock let it out and immediately his sobs filled the room. He distantly heard them, barely realizing he was the one making those pitiful noises.   
John stroke his hair, hushing him with sweet words and inviting him to stand up. 

Sherlock's broken tears wet the soft wool of John's cardigan, together with white soap stains, while the doctor kept praising him, for how good he had taken his punishment, for how beautiful he was like this, and assuring him his so agonized forgiveness.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has been the more difficult chapter to write so far for me, please let me know what do you think about it if it is too confused or what, I like to do time jumps, and I did a lot in this chapter because some of it was basically the plot of the first episode, I didn't want to bore you writing poorly something you had seen already. Also, I kinda suck to express my own emotion, so I hope the emotions of these two didn't turn out to be forced.
> 
> I really like to receive suggestions and requests, so please let me know anything you like or dislike.   
> Love you all.

Sherlock looked at the little tube in his hand, a single pill was inside it.   
“You know,” the cabbie said, “I was twelve when I resulted submissive,” he said, “A bit early, even for those times” he sighed heavily, “It was different back then, subs would be frown upon if they had a job, you were supposed to be meek, shy, not seen or heard, stay home be a good pet” his resent permeated his voice., “You know where being a good pet lead me to?” he asked rhetorically, “My Domme left me for a better sub, the children I raise barely find time to see me, I had no experience in any job, I didn't even finish the school, my dad didn't see why bothering to pay for the education of a submissive,” he paused, “fifty fifty, it seemed fair to this world, I don't see why it shouldn't be fair for this” he added smiling.

“You would think times are changed now,” he continued, “But I see people every day, they behave like nobody is there, I hear their conversations, see their half-hidden gestures,” he commented, “And guess what? Subs are still subs,” he smiled, “You have no life ahead Sherlock,” his tone had gone dark, “They will trick you, eventually, they will bend you, and what's worse, you will like it,” he said, opening the tube he was holding in his hand.  
“The only thing that is left to you, the only control over your life is this” he left the pill fell on his own palm, “You should have seen the faces of the subs when they were given freedom of choice over their own life” Sherlock opened the tube, “Free for the first time in their life.” The bang of a shot broke the window.

After his rough punishment, Sherlock had cried for long minutes, his face hid in the comfort of John's hug, he had apologized in a stream of disrupted words between sobs. He had needed time to reemerge from the waters of subspace, he hadn't nap, just stayed on John's lap, eyes closed. His mind was feeling lighter than before, like if an unknown weight had been removed from him, and as the fog of subspace dissipated his reasoning seemed to be more clear than ever. 

John had caressed his hair, with regular and slow movement, when suddenly the sub started to talk. As the doctor had guessed, he had returned to the case, Sherlock Holmes the mighty detective was back. He had explained to John the situation, more to reorganize what he knew so far rather than actually share with him his knowledge, talking fast and rumbling often, barely answering John's questions. 

“Fancy something to eat, sir?” he had asked suddenly, interrupting abruptly his considerations on the serial killer.   
They had crossed the road and went to the restaurant near Baker Street flat.

“Sherlock, anything on the menu is free for you and your pet,” Angelo said, his Italian accent rolling on the words as he offered them the menu with theatrical cheerfulness, he looked smiling at John.  
“I'm not his pet,” John corrected, frowning at the implication. Sherlock was looking out of the window, “Quite the contrary actually” he commented dryly.   
The owner seemed to not care to investigate the matter further, he got closer to John “He saved my life, you know?” he said, “You are a lucky man” he smiled widely. 

“Why are we here, Sherlock?” John asked, looking distractedly at the list, “Waiting” the detective answered, still looking out of the window.  
John rolled his eyes, “Waiting for what? Do you really think the killer will just knock at your door?” he asked. Sherlock smiled and looked at him for a brief moment, “Well, that would be disappointing” he commented, “I hope he is smarter than that, given his work.” 

His eyes had sharpened, he wasn't hearing John giving both of their orders to the waiter. He stood up, grabbed the Dom's hand without a word, and he ran out of the restaurant in the cold air of the evening. “What?” John was barely able to say, “The cab” was the only answer Sherlock gave. 

Before John could say anything else, his sub ran across the street, ignoring the car that almost hit him, a sharp curse was left out from the driver, “Sorry,” John yelled as he ran following Sherlock. 

The detective mind rushed in and out of his mind palace, he turned, quickly finding the route. 

Adrenaline had showered in John's blood. This wasn't what he was supposed to be doing, he was a trainer, a part of his mind had reminded him, and his sub was running in the middle of the traffic chasing a potential serial killer, but all he could feel was the inebriating taste of the action. He wanted to catch the target, he had followed Sherlock, running as he hadn't done since the times he had been wearing his uniform, alive.   
Sherlock once again had grabbed his hand, “This way, sir” he panted. He rushed directions, changing them often, calculating fast the route. 

John reminded Sherlock's laugh as he had retrieved his walking stick, long forgotten in the restaurant after they had avoided the police that the tourist had called. Sherlock, despite the disappointment of the run, had been shining. He had continued his deductions, talking so fast John struggled to understand him, yet he hadn't missed to address him as his Sir.

The Doctor saw him, through the window, in the front building, as the detective brought the pill to his mouth, deaf to his desperate screams. He pulled the trigger. 

Sherlock had gone missing hours ago, he had sneaked out, running through the fingers of the man who was supposed to take care of him. 

“You were actually going to take that pill, weren't you?” John asked, his tone was low, he was feeling deep hurt for some reason, he had met Sherlock only a few days ago but the idea that the detective might be gone tortured him, and enraged him in a suffocating pain he had never felt before.   
Neither of them had spoken until that moment, they had returned Sherlock's flat in silence after Sherlock had dismissed Greg's questions. 

“Not for a reason so dull as suicide, if that is what concerns you” the detective answered plain.  
John exploded “Then why? Why would you kill yourself, enlighten me please,” the doctor said sarcastically and shaken with rage.  
“I wanted to know if I got it right” Sherlock answered, shrugging a bit as if he couldn't see the reason for John's rage. 

The Dom blinked, he closed his eyes as if silently praying to have enough patience to not punch Sherlock in the face right at that moment.  
Sherlock continued “And for the same reason you followed that cab with me, for the same reason you went to meet a serial killer alone, without calling any help, with just a gun in your hands” he added, “And don't tell me there was no time for the backup to arrive, you met my brother after all,” he was meeting John's eyes, “And for the same reason you forgot about your walking stick a while ago” he finished.

“What are insinuating, boy” John growled.  
“That you are an addict, as much as I am” Sherlock answered ignoring the sparkle Dom's anger had lighted in him, “And that you ignored your needs as much as I did, and pretended to be someone else,” he added, more cautiously.

John closed his hand in a fist, his knuckles went white as his nails bit his own palm.   
Sherlock, since the doctor stayed silent, continued, “It's the first time I think this could actually work, Sir” he said lowly, adding the address that he had been avoiding until now, and meaning it for the first time when his mind was so far from the blessed grayness of subspace. He let himself fall on his knees, he still had to practice that, he thought distantly as the thud on the floor hurt him. He inhaled deeply, bowing his head a bit. 

John looked down at him, seeing him falling and his words soothed his anger, he let his hand run on his curls, “I don't want to see you getting hurt, Sherlock” he said sweetly, yet sadness permeated his tone “I don't want to lose you” he whispered.   
“I won't run away without you again, I promise, Sir” Sherlock answered, closing his eyes beneath John's gentle touch. 

John left him for a brief moment, Sherlock stayed eyes down on the floor.  
He felt leather fastening around his neck and a metal cold buckle being closed on his nape. John's fingers checked that the collar wasn't being too tight, Sherlock looked at him in surprise.   
The doctor kissed him sweetly and possessive, biting his lips as he did, and grabbing his curls, "You are mine now, Sherlock"


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the little delay, finals had started so I am a bit busy, that's also why this chapter is so short, I will update soon tho.  
> As always, suggestions are welcome, now that the boys are a bit more settled, lots of scenes will happen.

Sherlock looked himself in the bathroom mirror, studying closely the collar that was now around his neck. 

He had always found it extremely useful, how much you could tell about its owner just looking at someone's collar.  
John's collar was wide, quite more evident than many, it covered a big part of his neck. Real leather, not an artificial one, possibly one of the more expensive things John possessed, handmade finely. Strangely it seemed quite new, usually, Dominants had only a collar, and John had been a trainer for quite some time, maybe he didn't give it to just any sub he trained?  
It hadn't a single ring for a leash, but one metal ring at each side, a bondage fan then. No lock, just a simple buckle. 

Mycroft had wear a lock in his collar, once, a long time ago.  
He had visited Sherlock, undoubtedly to check if he was keeping himself clean, and, as his older brother was concentrated on picking one of the pieces of the Operation game, the detective had been staring at it curiously.  
“I took my collar off without permission,” the older Holmes had explained, feeling Sherlock's glare.  
A shiver had run through his spine as the sub reminded the severe whipping he had received, the bites of the birching were still smarting on his entire back, from his shoulders down to his thighs. It had been the first time his skin had been broken, even if only slightly.  
Greg knew he was too much of a good sub to do such a thing unless it really wasn't necessary for his job, but yet, Mycroft had bowed down, touching his Dom's shoes with his forehead and he had begged for his penance and absolution. And his Dom had obliged. 

“I don't get it” Sherlock commented, “Even Lestrade should know you are perfectly able to picklock it in a few seconds, so what's the point.” 

Mycroft had chuckled, condescending as usual, making Sherlock roll his eyes “Don't be naive, Sherlock” the older Holmes had said “Dominants don't put locks to close things,” he had explained, talking as to a particularly slow child, “They put locks to remind submissives they are not in charge, not even over their own bodies.” 

Sherlock was glad John hadn't put a lock on his collar, he knew that would have sounded too much as a challenge and that he would have opened it just to show the doctor he was able to. Without it, he didn't feel, not even remotely, the wish to take off John's precious gift.  
It was vaguely arousing, if anything, the idea that he had accepted to be owned, that he had asked for it, and that now he belonged to John, “You are mine, now” the doctor's possessive low yet sweet voice was still sounding vivid in his head. 

He returned to his bedroom. John was awake, still lying beneath the sheets, “That took you a while, I hope you weren't doing anything you are not supposed to” he said smiling mockingly.  
Sherlock sighed “I never found masturbation that interesting”, the detective said dryly. 

The sub nuzzled under the sheets, leaning his head against John's chest. Sherlock was naked, when the night before he had undress to put his pajamas on, John had stopped him, “I would prefer you to wear your collar only,” he had said with that liquid yet firm tone that he couldn't argue against. 

The doctor's arms embraced him, his hand ran down Sherlock's back and pinched his cheek. Sherlock grunted as the pain of the belting he had received the day before ignited, “It still hurts, sir” he complained, looking with resentment at John's satisfied smile, “As it should,” the doctor growled. The sub pouted, but yet he wasn't able to stop himself from smiling a bit. 

They stayed in bed for a while, John caressing in slow half-sleeping movements Sherlock's skin. The doctor had woken with an erection that had been pressing against the detective's thighs, the lack of comments by the Dom suggested it was usual for him. 

Sherlock loved those brief moments after a case had been solved when the rush of victory still filled his brain and boredom was only starting to creep in the back of his head. They were the only moments when his mind went a bit quiet, relaxed even. 

John patted on his back, suddenly, dragging the sub out of the warm calm he was tasting, “Let's get up, pet, we have stuff to do” he said.  
Sherlock frowned, “What do you mean, sir?” he asked, “Your training, Sherlock,” the doctor said, as that was enough of an explanation. 

Sherlock had served John some tea, there wasn't much else to eat in the kitchen, food tended to expire in his house so he didn't mind to buy much anymore. 

He was kneeling at John's side, when Mrs. Hudson entered, cheerful as always, bringing a tray of steaming toasts and jelly. The detective made to rush on his feet, glad he had been allowed to put his nightgown on at least, but John stopped him, pushing him down by the collar and glaring at him meaningfully. 

“I thought you might fancy some real breakfast,” the woman said, “Sherlock always forget to do his groceries” she added with a playful scold.  
“Sir,” Sherlock said, almost stumbling on the address, a bit dazed from John's silent reproach, “This is Mrs. Hudson, my landlady” he did the formalities with clear annoyance. 

“Oh, I met her already,” John said, “Who do you think opened me the front door when you were too busy sulking” he added. Sherlock shrugged, he didn't' really have given that detail enough care. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, you are very kind,” he said, as the lady laid the tray in front of him, “It's the least I can do,” she answered, looking at Sherlock's collar with a warm wide smile, “I always knew” she continued, “I'm so glad he will finally get better”. 

Sherlock was looking down, quite annoyed by the situation and feeling odd to be kneeling in front of anyone else's eyes but John's. The two continued their small chattering, that Sherlock deliberately ignored, and eventually Mrs. Hudson left, twittering a goodbye. 

John offered Sherlock a piece of toast with a bit of blueberry jelly, the detective took it, carefully avoiding to touch his fingers with his lips, “You will have to get used to it,” the doctor said, Sherlock looked at him confused, “To act properly even in front of others, I mean” the Dom explained.  
Humiliation crept coloring Sherlock's cheeks with a light pink that John, deep down, found adorable, “That doesn't mean I will find it any less degrading,” the sub retorted. 

“Degrading?” John asked with disbelief, “It's appropriate and perfectly normal behavior that you seemed to enjoy a lot last time”, he said.  
Sherlock clenched his jaw in annoyance as he remembered how he had melted the first time he had been hand-fed by John, how he had licked his fingers with lust as the subspace had started to creep around him, “It was different” he commented lowly, “I'm awake now”. 

John's resent seemed to dissipate and he smiled, “You mean you are far from subspace,” he said, “I don't think you will be for long” he added with a malicious tone.


	13. Chapter 13

John was sitting on the couch, Sherlock was standing awkwardly in front of him.

He had undressed of the few clothes covering him at the Doctor's command, he had dared, almost shyly, to ask why, “Because I want to play with you now,” the Dom had answered with melting arousal in his tone.  
The sub's pale skin showing was an inebriating scene, his black collar contrasted delightfully with his neck's colour. He was covering his crotch with his hands, clearly uneasy, still far from subspace, despite his pupils had gone wider at John's words.

“Come here,” John said, tapping his knee, gently and calmly. Sherlock blushed violently.   
Part of him wanted to disobey, to worm his way out the spanking he had asked to receive, sure that the only reason he had asked it in the first place was that John had so stubbornly decided they had to play a scene. He had complained, unsuccessfully, a voice in his brain had begged him to accept the offer and feel grateful for it, reminding him the powerful pleasure of the crop, how he had come under it, the liberation he had felt even during punishments, the lifting clarity and calm he had felt afterwards. He had wanted to drown that little voice so badly.

He walked slowly, covering with far too many steps the short distance that separated him from his Dominant, feeling his knees trembling a bit as he did. John's hand pushed him, in a soothing sweet way, guiding him to bend and lay on the couch, over his knee. 

With Sherlock's surprise, John hadn't mocked his humble request, he had smiled widely. The doctor had taught about taunting playfully the evidently strong taste the submissive had development for impact play, but the clear shame on the young man's face refrained him from commenting.

“Would you like to pretend to be in trouble?” the Dom asked, caressing slowly Sherlock's back as s savouring his skin while drawing circles. Sherlock's mind returned for a brief moment to the pleasant guilt he had felt during his corner time, when he had been a little bratty boy, it felt like a feverish dream, but yet he frowned. Pretending? Like a kid's play? He shook his head vigorously.   
“Fine then, a good boy spanking” John chuckled, caressing his but cheeks, feeling the sub's muscles tensing with anticipation beneath his fingers admiring the almost invisible signs he had left on the boy's skin.

The first blows started slowly, Sherlock moaned a little complain, still sore from the day before, welcoming the slaps without he gratitude John would have liked to see. The Dom caressed his checks, lightly, feeling the warmth building on his still so cold skin, teasingly grabbing his flesh before letting the next one fall.

He could hear Sherlock's whimpers, muffled by the couch pillow he had buried his face in, pleading quietly with those suave sounds as John gradually turned the blows more and more intense and closed together, hitting repeatedly the same spots just above the tenderly sensitive curve.  
The Doctor watched his skin turning delightfully pink, warmed by his hand, wobbling at each stroke and tensing as he paused to pet him shortly before returning to hit, he could feel Sherlock's cock growing and pressing with increasing insistence against his thigh.

When the blows started to sting and his skin turning red, Sherlock's moans filled the room, his fingers grasped the couch fabric and then John's trousers with convulsing movements as his legs started to kick the air. 

John grasped his hard cock. The sub gulped with a panted breath, immediately stopping his trashing and tensing rigidly, “You are not taking this very gracefully, are you, boy?” he asked tauntingly. Sherlock didn't answer, limiting himself to let a huff in the pillow beneath him.   
The Dom's hand stroke his cock, sending shivering sparkles to his whole body that made him trembling and raising his head in shock.   
Smiling delighted, John stroke him again, slowly. 

Sherlock moaned loudly, “Please, I'm sorry,” he said, panting for air not sure for what he was sorry for and wanting to get up, but the doctor's hand pushed him down again. “Laid still, boy, I'm not quite finished with you yet” he scolded, and, even before Sherlock could return to his position, a new blow fell on his burning backside. 

John's hand was still around his cock, every blow would make the sub's body move, stroking him with shivering pleasure as he moved around his hand.  
The Dominant had started to hit him quite intensely, letting his own sore pulsing palm fall on him with full force, elated by Sherlock's lustfully sounds, concentrating the strokes on few spots, covering them over and over again with rapid smacks while the sub was wetting with warm precum his other hand. 

“Please sir,” Sherlock panted, trembling in the electric painfully pleasure, “I'm so close” he pleaded, biting the cushion, “Please,” he repeated as John again, cruelly deaf to his begging, hit him again, “Please, sir, may I come” the sub managed to let out, loudly that he had intended, almost screaming as John stopped the spanking and started to stroke his cock with increasing pace, blessed by Sherlock's shiverings, as the sub tried not to come without permission, to be his good boy. 

John's caressed his burning red cheeks, and then a finger entered in Sherlock's entrance, gradually opening him. The friction of his tight dry hole made the sub grunt with clenched teeth, and as John stroked his cock a few more times with force, it became blissfully hurting. 

“You may, my beautiful boy” he whispered, and Sherlock did, a powerful load wet his belly with tepid liquid, as the last powerful convulsion finally made his whole body collapse on John's knee.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess what, more smut!   
> Sorry if I hadn't updated for a while and that the last 2 chapters plus this one are basically a single scene, I had this in mind for so long but University's finals made me write so slowly. 
> 
> Anyway, if you have suggestions, specific kinks, whatever, let me know.   
> Love you all and I hope you enjoy it!

“Thank you, sir” Sherlock moaned, his breaths were slowing down a bit as he laid back on the couch, the fog that was getting more familiar to him started to numb his mind after the blinding orgasm, melting beneath John's sweet kisses on his back and shoulders, almost giggling as the Dom kissed him rapidly. 

John observed his chest rising and descending with each sigh permeated of liberating relief, he massaged his back, grabbed his thighs, and smiled warmly at Sherlock's little sounds. His finger was still inside the boy, toying carefully inside the reddened cheeks. 

As he pulled it out, the sub whimpered, lost, tensing his pulsing hole around his finger, relieved by the rough presence but yet already missing it.  
John chuckled, deeply, it almost sounded like a growl, “What do you think, my good boy? Shall we head to the bedroom?”, his own cock was pressing on Sherlock's low belly through the fabric of his now stained trousers and an intense primordial craving was permeating his voice.   
Panic made the sub's heart fly, he could feel his ears pulsing, the grayness for a moment disappeared again, baring him suddenly of the warmth around him and making him dangerously aware of what John was asking him. 

He swallowed hard before nodding, and adding with a pinched voice a “Yes, sir”. 

John grabbed his hand as he stood up, squeezing it with tender force. He raised Sherlock's chin with the other, the sub met his eyes, wildly wide pupils, black against the icy color looked in the Doctor's kind eyes. He kissed his forehead, and, as the sub offered them, his lips, biting them tenderly. 

Sherlock laid on the bed, his forehead pressed against the mattress as he had been ordered to, his body bent over a pillow, exposing his warmed up ass to the cold air. He could hear distantly John stripping himself with frustrating calm.  
As the Doctor lowered his own trousers, he saw the sub looking at him with shining eyes, he smiled at him “Peeking, boy?” he said with a playful stern, Sherlock smiled timidly returning to face the sheets.   
He sensed the weight of the doctor climbing on the bed, and then a leather crop pampered in circles his still cooling skin. 

He whimpered in a complaint but yet his back arched searching for the crop, exposing his marked cheeks in a silent consent and breath-taking trepidation.   
John let out a chortle, teasing his skin a long while before letting it fall with a loud crack. Sherlock cried out, losing position for a brief moment, he wheezed, waiting and craving more, quickly returning to expose himself.  
He felt the leader length running beneath his curve, the friction warming him up, before the next stroke fell again, making his flesh wobbling and letting a white line across his backside.   
His cock was still soft, already drained by the previous orgasm, but yet cozy arousal blossomed from the pit of his stomach with each stroke that resonated in his bedroom, feeling the hungry gaze of his Dominant pinned on him. 

John's hand opened his cheeks with careful movements, tasting Sherlock's pinched whimpers swallowed by the sheets. He opened him revealing the sub's pulsing hole, he caressed it with the tip of the crop, draining pitiful sounds from the boy, and then hit it with a quick smack.   
The sub pain ringed, filling the air, his hands ran to his backside, as confused pleading words rushed from his mouth, he looked at John, lost in subspace. 

The Dom brushed his hole, tutting, “You are so beautiful, my little one” he growled, as he kissed the sub's cheeks, he heard Sherlock's initial panic calming down now and the sub returned to hide in the sheets, savoring the new burning on his hole left by the crop. 

John's cold hands massaged the pain away, fading it into a dull sweet presence, he felt his hands, dripping with lube, entering slowly and delicately in him, opening him, loosening his muscles with expert fingers. The Doctor slowly increased his pace, letting more and more length entering the hot entrance, matching the raising noises that he was making emerge from the trebling submissive.  
The Dom's cock was obscenely pressing on Sherlock's thighs, hungry and aching. He extracted his fingers and the submissive gasped as he started to brush his erected length between his cheeks, “Ask for it, Sherlock” he commanded, he was now panting himself, unable to control his voice that had gone dark with dominance. 

Sherlock whimpered loudly, he felt the pulsing cock pressing against his entrance, his mind was a messy crowd of disjointed thoughts, but one single, urgent crave prevailed over anything else, deafening, “Please, please” he cried out, trying to remember how to speak, to return a bit of clarity in his cloudy state, “Please use me,” he pinched with quivering asphyxiating desire, “Use me, sir, please” he repeated and his voice turned into a begging scream as John opened him. 

The sub's teeth bit the sheets, his eyes opened wide as his breath was taken away. John's hand grabbed his, forcing his arm to bend over his back, interlacing his fingers with his own, reassuring and yet possessive. His cock entered him repeatedly, in and out with more and more force, John's grunts mixed with Sherlock's moans turning in screams as he went rougher and the bed cracking. 

All force was drained from Sherlock, his struggling let space to floating exhaustion, turning liquid beneath his Dominant, and he let himself get lost in John's rumbling carps matching the pulsing friction inside him.   
John bit the base of his neck, his teeth pressed painfully on his skin as the warm blessed liquid entered him, heating his insides. The sub felt the Dom's body trembling over him as he came inside him, his fingers, still squeezing his hand, became an almost painful grip. 

The sudden emptiness made Sherlock whimpered as John exited from him, his whole body was covered with sweat and the cum and lube were sticking in a pleasant warmth his sore hole. 

John laid at his side, caressing his hair and covering him with those sweet little kisses. Sherlock shifted, nuzzling his head against the Dom's feverish body, letting himself getting cuddled with little sighs as the Doctor covered them both with the soft bedspread.   
The detective closed his eyes, resting on the older man's chest, hearing John's heart pumping fast and powerfully, his hands were caressing his body, running soothingly all over his back, to his thighs. He closed his eyes, falling asleep.


End file.
